Harley's Peculiar Mind
by GothicLover146
Summary: What does the ex-psychiatrist see in the Clown Prince of Crime? In this one-shot, Harley Quinn explains her love for the Joker and the madness behind their relationship. This is my first published fan fiction so I hope you enjoy it!


Do you know why I love him? Do you know why I admire him and see him as my inspiration? Do you know why the Joker has become the reason I breathe? I doubt you do. I doubt you would be able to understand the workings of my mind, or his for that matter. No one could fully understand the mechanics and thought process of a lunatic. No one wants to. All anyone knows is what they are told, no one wants to find out more. We are deemed mentally unstable and the label "insane" is slapped onto the end of our names. Yet it is not who we are; it is not who I am. My name is not Harley Quinn: Insane. In fact, Harley Quinn isn't who I am. It is just a name I was given, another label I have had since my rebirth that I have learned to bare. Nothing can define me as much as nothing can define him.

You cannot blame Mr. J for turning out the way he did. He never had an easy life. He was raised in a broken home, brought up by abusive, alcoholic, neglectful, malicious people. He did not receive a proper education and though he knows what is considered right and wrong, he will not yield to it. He will not back down from danger because his visions are worth so much more than any consequence could ever bare. All he ever wanted was to make people laugh, to make them feel something; something that he caused. He wanted to be the cause of someone feeling something so strong that they would always remember him: that the Joker was the one who caused this feeling. That he was the one who would always cause it. There are only two streams of consciousness one can feel so strongly of: pain and pleasure. It is obvious what he route he opts to take.

He is nothing short of brilliant. He is an intelligent man who has many sides and a story to tell. He is a man without a plan, yet somehow manages to get what he needs to done. He is a very dark and disturbed man. I love how the options he presents you with are not options at all. He makes you feel like you have a choice when there really is none. There is only one choice and that is his. He lets you believe that you have the power to decide what you will do with your life. But the choice you make has already been decided upon by him. When the Joker is in your midst, your decision to live or die is stripped from you. The Joker owns you whether you want him to or not.

You are probably expecting me to tell you that I had a choice, that I was the only one who had a choice and that I chose stupidly. You probably expect me to tell you that if I hadn't been so dumb, so blind, that I would have never found myself in this mess. If I weren't so dumb, I could have been a very successful psychiatrist and I would have gone on to do bigger and better things. I would've left Arkham Asylum and I could have even left the city. I could have had a house and some pets and maybe even a family to call my own. I could have lived the life that some are not even fortunate enough to get a taste of because they never acquired a proper education and never got the job of their dreams. I could have died contently and happily in my old age knowing I did great things with my life and that I helped many people. I could have done so much. I could have.

But I didn't. I never had a choice. He did the same thing with me as he has done to so many others in the past. I never had a choice just as the rest of his victims never did. The only thing that separates me from them is that I do not see myself as a victim. Quite the contrary actually; I see myself as fortunate to have been blessed with my lovin' J's presence. He has opened my eyes to so many things, shown me things that no one else ever would have been able to. He showed me the world for what it was and what it had the potential to become. He brought me into reality and into the light, where the truth hit me harder than he ever hit me. I see the world from his point of view now. I understand every thought and every feeling he encounters, I understand why he thinks and does certain things, I understand why he is and is not afraid of certain parts of life, I understand his compulsiveness and his nervous tics. I understand _him_.

I know he only saw me as a pawn in his game, a useful resource for the time being in the beginning. I was nothing more than the girl who came to see him multiple times a week and asked him questions I would never get real answers to until later when I never asked for them. He was slick and charming and if you hadn't known he was the Joker, you would have targeted him as the man you wanted to take home to your parents. He has this way of turning on the charm and making himself seem sensitive that makes him stick out from every other man in the room. Sure, he has green hair, dark rings around his eyes, and lips that end higher up than anyone else's that make him stick out like a sore thumb anyway but, that doesn't mean that he only stands out physically.

The Joker is not simply the Joker. He isn't just the Joker. He is a man; he is human. No matter how many other people don't believe he is capable of human emotion and compassion, I know that he is. No one else ever sees that side of him though. I am the only one who is fortunate enough to see him at his rawest moments. I am the only one who has ever seen him stripped away of everything; his name, his title, his position, his empire, his clothes, and his facade. When that is all gone he is simply the man I love, even without all of his fame and glory. He is a man capable of everything any other human is capable of. He is a man. He is _my_ man. I don't need him to tell me he loves me. I already know he does. Somewhere in his dark and twisted heart there is a place for me.

I use to cower at the mere thought of him putting his hands on me in any other way than affectionately. I would cry if he hit me or kicked me of yanked on my hair. I was afraid he would be the death of me when his anger ran away with him and he took the stress of the day out on me. I was terrified of the man I loved for quite awhile. I eventually learned that there was no need to be afraid of the Joker. He doesn't hit me because he doesn't care: it's because I make him feel. I sleep soundly with that knowledge every night. I have such a strong hold over him that _I_ make _him_ feel. When his hands are around my neck and he slams my body against the wall of our hideout, I can't help but feel relief. His anger is proof that I can make him feel, to make him respond emotionally to me. If I can trigger a response out of him then it proves to me that he cares. My bruises and scars are not symbols of abuse but, reminders of his love.

Yes, he is the Joker, he is Mr. J, he is the Clown Prince of Crime, he is the Man Who Laughs. But most importantly, he is my puddin'. He is _mine_. No one can ever take that away from me. The Joker will always be loved by someone no matter what happens in this dull existence we call life. And that someone is me, Harley Quinn.


End file.
